


Among the Down

by AlessaGreenwood



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealousy, M/M, Nesting, angsty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessaGreenwood/pseuds/AlessaGreenwood
Summary: Nesting was a concept familiar to angel and demon alike, though there may have been a small detail lost in translation between the two.





	Among the Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this: https://ariaste.tumblr.com/post/186015800684/youve-heard-of-wingfic-get-ready-for-the-new
> 
> Ah, miscommunications, the foundation of mislaid jealousy. 
> 
> A note: I've based Crowley's avian instincts on those of the Raven while Aziraphale's are based on the Swan.

The trouble started with the box of chocolates. It had appeared inoffensive at first, a rather innocuous brown box sat on Aziraphale's desk in the bookshop, the only notable thing about it being the curious logo stamped upon the face. Crowley had no idea what a 'DeLafée' was, apparently had something to do with fairies, given the two miniature winged beings flanking the gold embossed dL. Curiosity piqued, he lifted the lid to find a ring of gold-dusted chocolate truffles tucked inside.

This wouldn't have been such a problem, as it were, if it had been nearly anything other than chocolate. Crowley liked to imagine that after six thousand years he knew Aziraphale rather well and what he knew of the angel, among many things, were these two points: one, he had an insatiable sweet tooth, and two, he never bought himself chocolates. They were a treat, a gift, and always from Crowley. These were not.

It was a silly sort of thing to get upset over but the sight of the giftbox bothered Crowley, like a fly in ointment. It shouldn't be there, it wasn't wanted. It did not belong.

"Angel?" Crowley called from his perch on the angel's couch. He'd meant to keep his tone median but there was a heated whisper staining his inflection with accusation. His eyes narrowed in on the angel as Aziraphale came into his office, a blasé smile on his lips. 

"Did you need something, my dear?" The angel asked. Crowley gracefully pointed at the box of chocolates, slow and suave, meaning to express an air of indifference over the gift. 

"Secret admirer?" Crowley inquired. Aziraphale's eyes followed the line of Crowley's gesture to settle on the offending box. The angel had the audacity to look flustered.

"Ah," Aziraphale stood a little straighter and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, well, those are a token from Gabriel. A small reward for outstanding service in the field, for thwarting your last attempt at foreclosing on a church. He knows how much I enjoy human indulgences, it's nothing." 

Some soul-deep instinct raked hot, jagged talons down Crowley's spine upon hearing Aziraphale's confession. Jealousy flared in the back of his throat, spreading a bitter warmth like bad brandy in his mouth. Crowley had never felt threatened like this by some _angel_ before but then no angel had dared overstep that definitive boundary in the past. 

The pursuit of a mate was a sacred thing, angels and demons alike mated for life, though perhaps the differences that arose from millennia of separation between the two races led the recognition of intent astray. It was possible, Crowley supposed, that Gabriel wasn't even aware Aziraphale was being pursued. After all, Heaven didn't know how much time Aziraphale and Crowley spent in each other's company. The gesture might not have meant anything beyond the shallow congratulations. 

"Is something wrong, my dear?" Aziraphale inquired. Crowley pursed his lips. 

"Not a thing, angel," He muttered. He hauled himself up off of Aziraphale's couch and stood. "Still on for dinner this evening?" 

"I'm afraid not," Aziraphale quickly apologized. "I have something rather important to attend to. Tomorrow we can have lunch, wherever you like."

A muscle twitched in Crowley's jaw as he responded with a mute nod and strode stiffly from the bookshop. He wasn't accustomed to Aziraphale turning him down when it concerned a treat, the angel was a notorious hedonist. The rejection paired with the memory of Gabriel's gift stoked the sparking embers of a powerful jealousy he had only just managed to abate.

Once inside the asylum of the Bentley, he pulled out his phone, curious. It took but a short moment before he found what he had searched for and another for him to repair the phone he had just snapped in half. The chocolates Gabriel had gifted Aziraphale, as a mere reward, were one of the most expensive boxes on the market. That superseded a simple commendation, that was _personal_. 

This just wouldn't stand. Crowley had been patient, more than patient, in waiting for Aziraphale to accept his courtship. Could it be that the angel didn't know he was being courted? Crowley frowned. He was doing everything right, damn it, he was being a _provider_, he was _dependable_.

Were angels and demons so very different that his efforts could be misconstrued so completely as to be ambiguous? Perhaps Aziraphale hadn't overtly accepted Crowley's ministrations but he _was_ accepting them, though without verbal acknowledgment, but they'd had an agreement centuries ago to be nonverbal in expressing gratitude. Then, Crowley groaned in realization, he ran the risk of missing Aziraphale's unspoken approval simply because he wasn't familiar with angelic courting rituals. The both of them may have very well been passing each other signals in a language the other didn't speak.

Crowley had to know. He would give Aziraphale as much time as he needed to accept or reject him, in truth he'd give him the world if asked for it, but he needed to know if the angel was even aware of what was at stake. 

The bookshop was dark by the time Crowley had returned to it, save for a low, gentle glow shining from the second floor. Crowley unlocked the front doors with a snap, entered unto the premises and locked himself in. He was quiet as he ascended the staircase leading to Aziraphale's quarters above. Crowley froze upon entering the angel's private abode, golden eyes wide in stunned silence.

Seated on a low chaise against one wall the demon found Aziraphale, a leather-bound book laid open upon his lap, a pen in his hand. The angel was what Crowley noticed first, the other soon observed being the sheer amount of down feathers tucked neatly in little nooks and crannies or piled up in the corners of a second lounging bench beneath a window. The room was soft with them, it was like looking into a hazy and pleasant dream. It took all of a moment for Crowley to recognize what he was looking at.

This was a nest. Aziraphale was, quite evidently, nesting. 

A passion overtook Crowley at the sight and a growing, desperate ache that trembled in his very bones fueled a building ire. First the box of chocolates and now this, Crowley seethed. 

How long had he spent wooing a disinterested, claimed angel? How long had Aziraphale let him believe he was anything but? The angel had to be spoken for, the construction of a nest was something a mated pair did together. There were nothing but white feathers here, angel feathers. Were Gabriel's wings white? Crowley's head pounded as memories once thought to be inconsequential now stormed his consciousness, an old poison just now activated to spread a dull yet all-consuming throb. The bookshop, the _home_ Aziraphale had built, hadn't it been Gabriel who had called on Aziraphale before Crowley had managed to arrive? 

"Crowley!" The sound of Aziraphale's indignant snap snatched at Crowley's attention. The snake raised a shielded glare to meet an approaching brilliant blue glower. Aziraphale had stood, set his book aside and stalked towards his demonic trespasser. Crowley steeled himself for Aziraphale's violence but, instead of a hand raised in anger, light fingertips reached out to cup Crowley's face. 

"It's not ready yet," Aziraphale murmured. Thumbtips brushed just beneath Crowley's eyes, to smooth the soft skin and chase the demon's scowl away. Crowley frowned.

"Not ready?" He asked, soft and confused. Aziraphale tilted his head, his own lips falling into a frown, his own confusion evident in his frank stare. 

All at once an understanding fell upon both angel and demon simultaneously. The concept of nesting was familiar to both but was such a very different affair when one compared to the other. Angels built nests to entice and please a partner, demons only built them after securing one. Aziraphale had been preparing for near two hundred years to properly woo a demon who had been pursuing him for far, far longer. 

Crowley was the first to strike. Before Aziraphale could pull away the snake was upon him, hands clutching at either side of Aziraphale's face in order for him to seal their lips together. _It's ready, it's ready, it's ready!_ he wants to say. _It's finished, it's done, it's perfect and I'm here._

One kiss held them tenderly until the next brought both of them to their knees. Aziraphale whispered kisses along Crowley's brow as they settled on the floor, enfolded in the multitude of angeldown. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, holding on tight to the ethereal soul who had laid as solid a claim upon him as he had the angel, and in the morning, one black feather laid among the down.


End file.
